Code Black (11 page)

“We’ll keep that in mind.” Henry gathered the papers in front of him. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the tower.”

“Not so fast,” an authoritative voice said loudly.

Lauren had already started for the door, but stopped abruptly. She turned to see who had spoken, then looked to Henry for an introduction.

“This is Cyrus Richtman,” Henry said quickly, not masking his displeasure toward the man. “He’s Wayfarer’s CEO. The gentleman to his right is Leo Singer, founder and Chairman of Wayfarer Airlines. Gentleman, this is Dr. Lauren McKenna. Her fiancé is Mr. Nash—the man we were just speaking to from 880.”

At the mention of Leo Singer, Lauren knew exactly who the elderly man was, though her only visual references were pictures obviously taken years before. The man must now be nearly seventy years old. His diminutive stature was offset by a shock of unruly white hair and intense dark eyes. Lauren easily remembered portions of the articles she’d read about him. Once revered as a maverick with the Midas touch, there were now those who felt he should step down as Chairman of Wayfarer Airlines. His upstart airline had grown so much that his hands-on business style had become ineffective. It was widely rumored he was now more of a figurehead, that he deferred much of the decision making to those around him. Lauren guessed that one of his mouthpieces was Cyrus Richtman.

“What’s being done with the people who were waiting for 880?” Cyrus said, ignoring Lauren.

“Nothing yet,” Henry said. “All they’ve been told is that the flight has been delayed.”

“We need to get them sequestered somewhere,” Cyrus said. “I want total containment on this situation, at which time we can choose the exact moment for any announcements. Half the battle after a crash is decided by how well we manage the press. How many crisis counselors do we have on the premises?”

“Excuse me,” Lauren interrupted and glared at Cyrus. “But 880 hasn’t crashed.”

“Dr. McKenna. I was only speaking in terms of ‘what if.’ I’m sure you’ll agree it’s important to keep the big picture in focus.” Cyrus seemed to dismiss her as he turned his attention back to Henry. “Now, how many of the crisis team do we have at our disposal?”

“We have some people on site. But Cyrus, technically, the flight isn’t down; it’s just delayed.”

“I’m a realist, Henry. Can you look me in the eye and tell me 880 will be on the ground shortly? It sounds to me like it could just be a matter of minutes before we have a full-blown tragedy on our hands. I want those people separated from the public. The media will no doubt get a hold of this shortly, and I want total containment until we’re in control of this situation. Anyone who leaks information will be fired on the spot! Do I make myself clear?”

“Cyrus, I think it’s a little early for that,” Henry said.

Lauren watched the disagreement in horror, as the seconds ticked off in her head marking the time until Donovan would call the tower. She looked toward Leo for some sort of input, even intervention. But the withdrawn look on the Chairman’s face made it clear none was forthcoming.

“Each passenger on that flight represents a potential multi-million dollar lawsuit. It’s my job to try to minimize that,” Cyrus replied smoothly. “I would have thought you’d be aware of that position.”

Lauren wanted to explode. Flight 880 was out there and she was trapped arguing with people who seemed more concerned with the politics of the situation than the reality.

“If you unnecessarily scare the hell out of those waiting, then you’ve done more harm than good,” Henry nearly shouted. “But then again, you do that on a daily basis; why would I expect this to be any different?”

“Gentlemen,” Leo finally intervened, he held up his wrinkled hands. “We all have different jobs here. Let’s just do them. Henry, you do whatever you can from your end. We’ll do what we need to from here. Now, let’s get to work, and Henry, we’ll expect constant reports.”

“Leo, I agree completely.” Cyrus glared at Henry, then turned to Leo where the angry expression quickly vanished. “I must admit to having some serious reservations about Henry’s participation in this crisis, especially with his wife being on the flight. Wouldn’t you agree it’s just not prudent?”

“To hell with your reservations,” Henry shot back. “I’m the best man to deal with this situation. I know the 737 backwards and forwards. Unless you’d like to speak with the crew yourself, give them some guidance?”

“You’re on thin ice, Mr. Parrish.” The CEO’s words came out as almost a hiss. “Frank Devereux is on his way; when he arrives, you will turn the entire operation over to him. He’ll make any decisions along with Leo and myself. Is that understood?”

“Devereux’s been Vice President of Flight Operations for almost three years. I’ll bet he hasn’t flown the line since then,” Henry said sharply. “Hell of a lot of good he’ll be.”

“I was right in calling him.” Cyrus turned to Leo, as if to give the aging Chairman the impression he was involved in the discussion. “He said he would be here in less than half an hour.”

“We’re sorry Audrey is on board,” Leo said quietly. “But I think Cyrus has a good point.”

“Well said, Leo,” Cyrus added. “It reflects how we all feel.”

“Look!” Lauren’s patience had vanished. “Time is running out! Henry and I are going to the tower.”

“Fine,” Cyrus replied, still staring at Henry. “But you will take no action that doesn’t go through Leo and myself. We’ll be here in Operations. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Henry guided Lauren out past Glen, Tucker, and Matt, closing the door to the war room as he exited.

Lauren hated that the conversation with Cyrus had eaten up valuable time. She had no idea how far they were from the control tower.

“What’s going on?” Matt asked excitedly.

“Glen,” Henry said, ignoring his son. “Get an ID badge for Lauren. Then I want you to call the tower supervisor, tell them the two of us will be there shortly and if they could smooth the way as far as security is concerned, it would be appreciated.”

“What can I do?” David Tucker quickly offered.

“Get on the phone. Find the closest military field with an up-and-running PAR approach. Then find me a systems guy. I want the best 737 engineers you can find. I want a solution to this mess—and I want it now!”

“I’m on it!” Tucker spun and headed for a phone.

“What’s a PAR?” Lauren questioned. She knew she could quickly facilitate anything to do with the military.

“Precision Approach Radar,” Matt said, jumping into the conversation. “The military uses a totally ground-based approach system. Two radar beams are used to direct the airplane all the way to touchdown. All it takes is a communication link with the airplane. The ground guys do the rest.”

“But with all the base closings,” Henry added, “I’m not sure where the closest one might be.”

Lauren watched Matt’s expression turn from humiliation at being ignored, to anger at being so obviously excluded from the process. She wanted to say something, anything, that might assuage Matt’s feelings. But under the circumstances, she felt entirely out of place.

“Here.” Glen handed Lauren an ID badge affixed to a cord, which Lauren slipped over her head.

“We’re out of here,” Henry said. “Glen, keep line three open for me in case I need anything more from you. If you need to reach me, call on my cell phone. Oh, and make sure Matt doesn’t get into any trouble, okay?”

Lauren wished she could give Matt some encouragement. “I’ll be in touch.” She said, squeezing his arm as she hurried past.

Henry raced up the stairs to the main concourse level. Lauren was right behind him “We’re cutting it pretty close—we’re going to have to run.”

“Just go!” Lauren said. Outside the window the blizzard was now in full force. Snow poured out of the diffused sky. She could barely see the snow-covered airplanes parked at the gates. The meteorologist in her knew that this storm was intensifying quickly. She wondered if this blizzard was shaping up to be far more than just the normal mid-western snowstorm. At the thought of Donovan up there somewhere, flying aimlessly in a crippled airplane, she ran faster.

CHAPTER NINE

“We’re going to give them fifteen minutes and then call back.” Donovan felt buoyed by the fact he’d spoken to Lauren. Thankfully, Audrey had returned to the cabin to check on the passengers. It was just he and John on the flight deck.

“I’ve got the airplane if you want to go—Audrey might need some help finding more phones,” John suggested. “Maybe, while you’re up, you could take a look around and get an idea of how much damage we have to this thing. I’m really anxious to know if we have any fuel leaks. But I’ll need you up here with me when we talk to Henry again.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Donovan unfastened his seat belt. “If something happens, just rock the wings gently, that can be our signal that you want me.”

John nodded that he understood.

As soon as Donovan stepped out of the flight deck, he stopped, staggered by the scene as he looked down the full length of the cabin. He had been in such a rush to get up to the cockpit that the extent of the damage hadn’t really registered. Above him, he could see the sky through what was once the roof of the plane. The stiff aluminum ribs and stringers fluttered in the slipstream; wrinkled and torn metal jutted out at odd angles. The roar from the wind buffeted loudly, he could feel the full force of it resonate deep in his chest.

Donovan decided the first item of business was to drag the copilot out of the way. He reached down and grabbed both ankles, pulling the body from the cockpit. The young man’s head twisted at an impossible angle as Donovan placed the body on the floor of what used to be first class.

Donovan straightened up and averted his eyes from the corpse. Dark stains were splattered over the gray carpet. Donovan forced himself to move aft, the icy rush of air blasting him as he ducked under the largest part of the rip in the fuselage. He needed to find a coat to stay warm or he would freeze. They all would. He momentarily lost his balance, steadying himself on one of the seats. He stiffened. Did the plane move… had John done something different? Had he rocked the wings? Donovan tensed, ready to turn and bolt back toward the cockpit. He studied the clouds out the small window. They were still flying straight and level. Had he just imagined it? He pulled his hand from the seat and recoiled at the icy blood and gore he found there. Filled with revulsion, he wiped it off as best he could on another section of the fabric chair.

The passengers seated in the first row behind the missing seats were all dead. Flying debris had inflicted massive head and chest wounds. Some were virtually unrecognizable; only their clothes hinted at whether the victim was male or female. Blood had frozen and congealed on the beige headliner and window panels. His stomach lurched as he quickly moved past the carnage.

Donovan moved a few rows, then stopped to examine a passenger near the over-wing exit. He recognized the man who had smiled and nodded at him as they’d taken their seats in Washington, DC. No oxygen mask hung above him.

All around him, people sat quietly in their seats, they looked to be asleep, but their bluish lips and gray faces told a different story. Since it was Friday afternoon, Donovan knew that most were probably headed home for the weekend. Families would be waiting for them to arrive, to walk in for dinner, or a hundred other things taken for granted. To his right a younger couple sat together. He remembered them smiling and laughing. They were probably still in their twenties. Their hands were entwined; her head was tilted over and resting on his shoulder. Sickened by the waste of life, he forced himself to move on. He had to examine as much of the airframe as he could. The dead were beyond his help.

The rip in the top of the 737 began at the cockpit, and ran aft from there. A closer inspection revealed a slight movement of the metal on each side of the gash. The stresses from flight were forcing the two sides to move in opposite directions. Donovan shook his head in near disbelief. It was a miracle the airplane was still intact. As an afterthought, he looked at his hands. A small amount of blood remained. He reached up, fighting the wind rushing along the roof and made a red smudge on the aluminum where the crack ended. He now at least had a reference to where the split stopped. Hopefully, the tear in the metal wouldn’t expand.

“Donovan!” Audrey yelled against the noise of the wind.

He turned to see Audrey and another man. Donovan was at first startled, then thankful, that someone else was up and around, maybe the first of many who would wake up. Carefully, Donovan stepped around the bodies of passengers who had collapsed in the aisle.

“Here.” Audrey handed him a coat. “You’re going to freeze.”

Donovan gratefully slipped on the heavy wool garment and was happy to discover that it fit him fairly well. He studied the newest member of their small group of survivors, and guessed the man was in his mid-to-early-forties. He was husky, about six feet tall, with a full beard and longish blonde hair. At first glance he appeared to be a little on the rough side, but upon closer inspection Donovan could see small refinements. He wore an expensive gold watch and shiny cowboy boots peaked out from beneath precision creased slacks.

“This is Keith.” Audrey made the hurried introductions. “Keith, Donovan.”

“Are you okay?” Donovan nodded at Keith as he quickly buttoned up the heavy coat in an attempt to retain his body heat. He hadn’t realized how cold he was. The effect was almost immediate. He felt in the pockets for gloves but found none, only some matches and half a roll of breath mints.

“I’m fine,” Keith said. “How bad is all of this?”

Donovan brushed off the question and turned toward Audrey. He hated that he had to have this much contact with her, but hopefully the situation they were in would divert her thoughts from the past “How many more survivors are there?”

“I don’t know yet; so far Keith’s the only one.” Audrey lowered her head and removed some strands of hair that had blown into the corner of her mouth. She pulled up the collar on her coat to ward off the freezing blast of air. “It’s too early to tell, but I do think we need to get these people out of the aisle. It’s hard to go back and forth to the cockpit.”